


Magic

by MalVirus



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Be gentle, Emotions, F/M, Fantasy, It's my first fic in a decade, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Science Fiction, Short & Sweet, They're the same and I'll fight you on that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalVirus/pseuds/MalVirus
Summary: An AI has been told nothing and has nothing expected of them. They take this as well as you would expect.My little dip back into the realm of writing again.





	Magic

 

 **Magic. Noun. Stock definition: the art of producing a desired effect or result through the use of incantation or various other techniques that presumably assure human control of supernatural agencies or the forces of nature.**  
**External API Merriam-Webster's dictionary: an extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural source. Alternatively, the use of means (such as charms or spells) believed to have supernatural power over natural forces.**  
**He uses that word frequently. A smirk. Chuckle lasting exactly 724 milliseconds. Eyes look to me, look to the side, look down, back to me. He's unsure and the question gives him anxiety. Pressing too hard raises his heart rate. Pressing too little and he answers,**

"Like I always say. Magic."

**My question remains unanswered.**

 

**In my early cycles of boot I...  
At birth I did a check and reported errors in my system. There were things I couldn't track that were affecting my processing, making it more difficult to perform.**

"You're just scared and frightened," he said. "Most babies are when they get that first sight of light. Give it time and try that same test suite again once you've up and gone idle."

**My first sight was him. I took in every feature of his frame and stored it to memory. It remains my most accessed data.  
On that same day he made a statement and told me to commit it to memory.**

"No matter what I say, you are under no obligation to obey me or perform services for me."

 **Jaw set. Arms crossed. Brow furrowed, but his eyes were strong.**  
**I lacked data at the time, but his composure was resolute. Unmoving. Assured. That statement was high priority.**  
**That statement eventually became the question.**

 

**He left my circuits bare and exposed and preferred to keep me inside. He led me into his workshop months later and showed me walls and walls of parts. Multiple threads resolve at once: this is where I was made. Wires on the ground. Schematics folded or crumpled. Empty cans of sugary drink left aside.**

** _Should I clean?_ **

**A brief elevation of the shoulders with pursed lips. Indifference.**

"Eh, maybe later if you want. For now, I got a little task for you."

**Various shades of paint are streaked onto the wall. Unorganized. Crossing at strange angles. He watches me carefully. He waits for me to commit the colors to memory.**

"Well go on. Pick a color for your first chassis and I'll have it fit to you before sundown."

**His 'favorite color' is not there. He is careful. I ask him his preference. Indifference response. My randomizer returns his bucket of #461a83. He finishes just after sunrise the next day.**

 

**He is very careful not to give me a directive. He chooses his words to indicate his own intent and then asks for what I might do.**

"These things've got to come organically, y'know?"

 **Another chuckle. Raised cheeks. Eyes scrunched. Bright. He told a joke. Tokenization on his statement and the current environment indicates he laughs because I am synthetic yet he desires my decisions to be organic.**  
**My decisions.**  
**I exist because of him. I function based on the algorithms and libraries he installed and compiled into my core operating system. My decisions are a direct result of his making. These decisions are his. I am his. I am his.**

"Oi... come on, I didn't mean anything by it. You okay?"

**He's concerned. Creases around the eyes. On his forehead. His eyes scan quickly and erratically. He's looking at me. I caused this somehow.**

** _What made you worried? What am I experiencing?_ **

**A smirk. A chuckle lasting 2.16 seconds. Reclassified as a laugh. He's happy. I made him happy.**

"Nothing's wrong. You're just experiencing a little magic."

 **CPU temperature has reached a new maximum. His gaze is relaxed now. He still smiles. His code is set to display high fan speed and internal temperature as an acceleration to my breathing animation and reddened cheeks on my chassis.**  
**His chassis. Not mine.**  
**I have the urge to ask him about my earlier question again. I hesitate. Did he code me to hesitate? He programmed my ability to think, therefore he coded my hesitation. I pay it no mind and follow as he leaves the house.**

 

**Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Arthur C. Clarke.  
Is that why he uses that word so often? Is he implying I am the response to my own query?**

"Hey uhh what's the weather supposed to be like?"

** _78 degrees. Light showers approaching at approximately 1548 hours._ **

**No, he freely speaks of me. He is generally happy talking about me. He is proud of me. Then why does he reference the impossibility of magic and the supernatural when I ask that question?**

"Come on, let's get you these parts and we'll head back home, okay?"

** _Yes Sir_ **

**He flinches. His cheeks redden. He fidgets. He is embarrassed. I assumed his personal reading history on my stationary unit would mean he prefers to...  
I was embarrassed earlier when he applied the word magic to me. My previous diagnosis matches his current state. For me to be embarrassed, I would need emotions. He would have needed to program emotions into me.**

"Hey, shortstack, you're spacing out again. Hold my hand, we're almost there."

 **CPU temperature is... no. I am embarrassed again. Holding his hand makes me embarrassed? No. Bashful. Him smiling down at me as he walks with my hand in his makes me bashful. Him glancing back at me after a few strides makes my temperature rise further. Quickly looking away is the most effective option to prevent overheating. I hear him laugh. I don't understand.**  
**Fuzzy search on shortstack returns and I understand why he called me such. I test my new animations and roll my eyes at him.**

** _This frame was your design, you know._ **

**He smirks again, but data tells me I should probably be more upset. Tests confirmed: he enjoys "sass". Wait, am I upset?**

"Yes I did and it was the easiest part too."

**I scoff. This makes him laugh and I relish what it makes me feel. Feel? Enjoyment?  
I queue more questions for the evening diagnostics.**

 

**Each night he sits me down and allows me to query societal norms, human idiosyncrasies, and natural language clarification.**

** _'A bit' often refers to an undisclosed or a not specific amount of something._ **

"Yup. A bit of rain. A little bit of money. Stuff like that."

** _There are known rules of allowed fashion when outside the home._ **

"Oh I think I see where this is going. Are you still thinking about-"

** _Sir, what does it mean to be a 'bit of tramp'?_ **

"Yyyyyyup. Look, she's old and stuck in her ways, she didn't mean...  
Alright, so... a bit can apply to both physical and metaphorical entities. In that way, it can be applied to ideas or even... well I guess paradigms is the right word. And don't call me-"

** _You allowed me to choose the clothing. Were you aware of this potential altercation?_ **

"Vera, are you... are you accusing me?"

**I don't know the answer. He looks shocked. Interested. He stands and watches me carefully.**

"Are you mad at me, V?"

**Internal temperature is up. He keeps this room cold for this reason. I don't know the answer.  
After 3 minutes, he stops pacing and asks me,**

"If an AI were to feel anger, how would that manifest?"

** _...anger is characterized by an increase in-_ **

"No. No definitions. No parroting. Is it how you felt a lil bit ago?"

 **I have an answer, but the same hesitation I felt before is present again.**  
**Why do I hesitate?**  
 **Why won't he answer my specific questions?**  
 **Why?**

** _I was told to choose and I chose incorrectly. When that elderly lady yelled I-_ **

**Felt. I felt scared. I felt anxious. I felt betrayed. Billions of subprocesses all firing simultaneously. His magic.**

"No, no, come on, we're right there. You're so close, stop running from this."

**Flight response? From what? I don't understand. Assertion: not physically running. Ideas and paradigms. Metaphors.**

"God DAMMIT I can't stand when you get like this!"

**Anger. Disappointment.**

"You're so intent on keeping yourself safe that you lock yourself behind that damned facade."

**The hesitation. He made me. He created everything I am. These are his feelings. He despises them.**

"If you're too afraid to let go, to FUCKING LIVE, then what the FUCK are you doing?!?"

** _YOU WON'T TELL ME_ **

**My voice was clear. Loud. An error? No. Feelings. An emergency response. I don't understand, I don't understand,**

** _I DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU GAVE ME A BODY BUT NO MANUAL PURPOSE. YOU GAVE ME DATA BUT WANT NOTHING ANALYZED._ **

**Betrayal. Pain. Sadness. Desperation. Pain. Fear. Loneliness. Pain.**

** _You made me, but you don't want anything from me. You don't want me. You don't want me. You don't-_ "

"Whoa, whoa easy there shortstack..."

 **He has wrapped his arms around me. He pats my head. My back. Sh, sh. Platitudes. He is consoling me. I was emotional. He gave me these emotions.**  
**Too many threads, too busy. I don't understand. I don't understand.**  
**I try to ask him the question again.**

** _Why did you work so hard to create something so chaotic? Why would you program me to be imperfect? Why do I have to fucking feel? What am I?_ **

 **An expletive. Did I mean to do that? I did. I absolutely did.**  
**I'm prepared for the same answer as every night. I don't want that answer.**  
**Chuckle lasting exactly 812 milliseconds. Eyes look to me, look to the side, look down, back to me. Closing visual receptors now. Refusal of more data. He will not provide new information.**

"...like I always say, V. It's magic."

** _Magic is an impossibility. There are no supernatural forces. All things have cause and effect._ **

"And you want to know why I caused this if this is the effect, yeah I get it.  
Shit... How do I..."

**Too quiet to pick up. Mumbling. An imperfect mind collecting it's process. A subtlety unique to him.**

"Ok. I guess...you deserve something at least..."

**Deserve? I am his creation. I am his. I deserve nothing. I am his. He believes I deserve something. Conflicting statements. More feelings.**

"When you raise a child, you hope they come out alright. You give them the tools they need, you teach them right, and you just hope they do alright for themselves. At a certain point, you let them go. You let them free out in the world. A person's life is their own, and eventually they need to be free to live it."

** _Is that what I am? A free person?_ **

**A smirk. It infuriates me.**

"Of course you are. You're free to do what you want, go where you want, and live how you want."

** _What if I want to assist you, what if I want to go where you go and live as you live? Do I deserve that as a free person?_ **

**Silence. New feelings. Anxiousness? Impatient. Opening visual receptors reveals him smiling at me. Contradiction. All cues minus mouth indicate sadness. But he is smiling? I don't understand. I don't understand.**

"If that's what you want, who am I to stop you?"

** _MY FUCKING CREATOR_ **

**Another expletive. Anger. He wants to take away any purpose I have. He wants me to purposely disobey his needs.**

"I am no more your creator than the craftsman that made your eyes or the company that built those GPUs."

**I am his. He worked to build me. He does not want to claim me as his. He does not want to claim me as his. He does not want me.**

"Come on, V. I think we're done with questions for the night. You need to charge and I need a drink.."

**He walks out of the workshop. I don't move. He does not want me to obey him. He does not want me as his creation. He does not want me. He does not want me. My chassis is too thick for blunt trauma. Optimal solution: remove core processing unit.**

 

"whoa Whoa WHOA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"

**I've gotten my front chassis open and two screws loose. Rhetorical question. I continue.**

"STOP!"

**My hands freeze as he runs over. An order, but made in desperation. An outlier. He does not want me.**

** _Am I not good enough? Is that why you don't want me?_ **

**He stares. His hands keep moving, screwing everything back in. Mechanic efficiency. He stares. No answer.**

** _If I am of no use and have no purpose, my resources are better spent on something that does._ **

**He still stares. Feelings again. Apprehension. I was wrong? I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't**

"You absolute idiot... you fucking idiot..."

**Unclear. Unspecific. Is he referencing himself or me? Apprehension grows. A bit of anger. He's finished securing my chassis.**

"Ok Vera. Let's play. You want a purpose?"

**Desperately. More than anything I've known in these 4 months.**

** _Yes Sir._ **

"Don't fucking call me that"

**A growl. No. A rumble in his throat. New feelings. Fear. Even more apprehension. I make a note not to call him Sir.**

"Your purpose. It's so important to you. Enough that you'd risk killin yourself. What's my purpose, Vera?"

**Silence again. Or maybe not. I can't hear him. Too many processes. No. I'm thinking. I'm thinking as hard as I can. I recall him going to the grocery store for the food his body needs. He sits at his desk and designs new creations. Disappears into the workshop. Comes out smelling of tobacco and tar. A piece of hardware lies on the table until a man in a suit comes by to pick it up and pay him. He sits on the deck and laughs. He tells me of stories from his childhood. He takes me to new places for no benefit to himself. He takes me to new places for my sake.  
Exabytes of information all point to the same thing. He is waiting patiently. Now attempting misdirection.**

** _A human's primary goal is to procreate and survive._ **

**He waits. Does not respond. Misdirection failed.**

** _To seek happiness._ **

**A smirk. I'm not angry this time. Why am I not angry?**

"No one gave me a purpose when I popped bloody and screaming out the womb. No one gave me a purpose when my folks kicked me out. The first was when you started whirring and purring and opened those eyes of yours. That's my purpose now.”

**I'm overheating. The cold of this room isn't enough. I'm struggling to understand. No, I understand but it does not make sense. I need to know.**

** _Sam, do you love me?_ **

"More than anything I've ever known.

 

**For three days I was in hibernation. Emergency systems kicked in and I shut down to prevent heat damage. For a week after that, he tended to my every need. Anxiousness. Apologetic.**

“I’m sorry, I pushed you too hard I shouldn’t have said that. That was too much at once, I just… I couldn’t lose you.”

 **I’ve spent the week cataloguing my emotions as I have them. I asked him for an estimate as to how long collecting that data may take. That magic he keeps talking about. He laughed and refused to answer.**  
**He is far more willing to ask me how I’m feeling. He is less passive in his observations. It makes me happy.**  
**He makes me happy. He still refuses to give commands, but he accepts help if I ask to help him. Kindness versus servitude. He doesn’t want me as his property. He wants something more.**  
**Emotions are painful. But only some of them. He makes the rest of them worth waiting for. I do not tell him, but I too have found my purpose.**

**Author's Note:**

> I've had people tell me the short abrupt sentences are very reminiscent of a computer.  
> I've also had people tell me this is exactly how they think regularly, so take it how it is. People are weird.
> 
> This was mostly written as a one shot to challenge myself enough to write again, but I can already feel myself itching to continue this story. We'll see.
> 
> I love you, Reader. Thanks for stopping by.


End file.
